Blood Brothers
by Adamantwrites
Summary: A follow-up to "Adam I have Loved." 15 year old Joe is unwilling to accept Adam into the family so Ben sends the two on a journey to Arizona and along the way, Joe finds he needs "oldest brother" in order to survive. All established characters and settings are the property of their respective owners via copyright. All original OC's and plots are the property of the author.
1. Chapter 1

**Blood Brothers**

 **I**

Let me say right from the start that I'm not trying to excuse myself; I'm just trying to explain why I did what I did. And everything I tell you will be the truth as I know it, mainly the truth about myself. And you can trust it's the truth because as my brother Hoss said once in my defense, "Joe ain't no liar." Well, that's not quite the truth but I wouldn't lie about this.

Oh, I used to be a liar. I mean when I was a kid I lied to get myself out of trouble like all kids do, but once I hit 14, well, I realized that I was always caught in my lies and then I just looked worse than if I had owned up to what I had done in the first place and even if I wasn't caught, I began to feel guilty and found myself coming clean and confessing. Surprised myself. Pa said I was growing up, maturing and becoming a man but actually, I was becoming a coward. I used to not care if I was caught because I figured I could always talk my way out of that as well, and sometimes I did. Well, for a while. So I think that part of honesty is just out and out fear but I also think, well, Adam told me this, "That a man has to live with himself."

Speaking of, this story is mainly about me and my oldest brother, Adam. He might have a different version of what happened—relating things from how he saw it but this is my story, this is through my eyes. And I hope you choose to believe me because it's _my_ truth.

Hoss and I'd just gotten home from a cattle drive—one that I had begged my father to let me go on but I later wished he had said no. It was an awful experience—hot, dirty and dusty and stinking and even worse when it rained! Then it was wet, muddy and uncomfortable and stinking. Even my long johns would get wet in the rain, poncho or not, and the time it rained three days in a row, well, the whole camp stank of wet, dirty men and the beeves smelled even worse than when they were dry. Try sleeping in weather like that. But the worst part, other than having to sleep on the world's hardest stretch of ground or sit up half the night watching those stupid beeves, was being assigned to the wrangler.

At the end of every long, hot, miserable day, the remuda would be corralled with thick ropes the wrangler strung between trees or posts I had to pound into the earth. The first night I complained about it, about me having to pound the stakes in so deep only to struggle to pull them up in the morning, Stumpy called me every name but Cartwright. I thought he'd singe off my eyebrows. Then after the horses were safe, he'd go to checking each horse's hooves. I wanted to go eat while he did this—it made sense to me—I eat and when I come back he's through and goes eat while I do my jobs but he just looked at me when I made my suggestion, spat a wad of tobacco, and I took that for no. It took him about 40 minutes to do this, check each horse's hooves and run his hands up and down their legs feeling the joints, but Stumpy, the wrangler, wouldn't let me leave; I had to follow behind him like a puppy. Stumpy made me stay beside him and if he found anything wrong, I had to do what he did, run my hands up and down the horse's legs or whatever to see if I felt it too. I thought that was stupid and told him so. I wasn't going to be a wrangler—I was going to be a part-owner of the Ponderosa. But let me tell you, he's called Stumpy because he lost two of his fingers to Indians years ago but that didn't stop him from snatching me by my shirt-front and telling me that as long as I was working for him, I had better shut my mouth and open my ears.

I told Hoss about it, thinking he'd be mad that I'd be treated that way but he just laughed and said I was lucky Stumpy didn't kick my ass all the way to Abilene, and kept making up his bedroll for the night. Can you believe my own brother who was told to look after me would behave that way? And just between you and me, I was told that Stumpy was called that because he'd lost another important appendage—the Indians had chopped off his manhood as well. I asked Hoss about it once and he just brushed me off, saying that it was just a joke. But let me tell you, sometimes Stumpy made me so mad I was tempted to toss it in his face that he wasn't a full man anymore; maybe then he'd ease up on me if he thought I knew something secret. But I never did. There's that coward in me again raising his head to save his ass.

Like I was saying though, the worst part about working for Stumpy was that after checking the stock and making me tag along like a puppy, he'd leave to eat but I wasn't allowed to leave until I had fed and watered and rubbed down every single one of those hammer-headed, reeking, miserable excuses for horses. Then and only then could I go eat and all I'd get for dinner was a cold biscuit, the burned bottom scrapings of the stew pot and a weak cup of the second brewing of the coffee grounds—tan hot water—and we had only sorghum to sweeten it.

I never want to go on another cattle drive again in my life but when Hoss and me finally got home way before the hands who took their time, things got even worse for me.

Pa was glad to see us, you know, clapping us on the back, grinning and all, and we were glad to see him but that Esau, the hand he had hired before the drive, was in the house. And not just in the house, he was sitting in that blue chair we have by the fireplace, reading a book and sipping on a whiskey. I looked at Hoss and he looked at me and Pa could see we were both confused as to what the hell was going on. And that Esau, he rose too and stuck his hands in the back pockets of his dungarees. He kept looking at Pa and I wondered what he had on my father to be asked to move in. I mean, I knew my pa was lonely with both me and Hoss gone but why he would ask a total stranger to move in? See why I was suspicious?

"Sons," Pa said, "I suppose you're wondering why…." He motioned in Esau's direction. Then he took a deep sigh and smiled at us. "This is your older brother...Adam."

I giggled. I mean I thought he was kidding—he had to be kidding. So I looked to Hoss and he wasn't laughing. He looked serious. And as I watched, Hoss walked over to "Adam" and put out a hand. Adam took it and instead of shaking, they took each other's hands and then embraced one another. I didn't know what to make of that. And to make things worse, Hoss smiled and Adam laughed and they couldn't get enough of each other, Hoss talking about how he'd suspected and how happy he was to have someone around to help him. Well, what did Hoss think I was for?

It seemed like all of them were crazy and I just turned and walked out making sure the door slammed shut loudly. I couldn't believe it. Here I had been gone almost four months and when I finally get home, my whole world is turned upside down. A brother older than Hoss? Where the hell had this brother come from? My pa never mentioned an older brother to me. I mean I knew he had a wife before Hoss' mother but he never mentioned anything about a son. So what happened? Did that "Adam" just show up and one day say he was my pa's son? Was he a Cartwright bastard? Had my father been with another woman and left her with a child? I couldn't believe that of my pa but I'd rather Adam be a bastard than a rightful first born.

So I just started walking—my head so full of pressure it felt like it would explode. I just wanted to hit somebody—to hurt somebody as much as I hurt. I headed to the lake where my mother is buried. I go there when I'm upset and talk to her and I knew that on foot, it'd take me about an hour. But then, my pa had his two sons in the house with him; why would he even care about me anymore? I doubted he'd even miss me. Let the three of them hug on each other and all. I wanted nothing to do with them—not any of them. I felt betrayed.

I guess I'd been at the lake about an hour or longer when my pa rode up towing my horse Cochise behind him. I hadn't talked to my momma as I'd planned because, well, again I know it's silly. but I didn't think she'd approve of my behavior. I knew she had loved me and Hoss always said I was spoiled because of her, that she was always giving me whatever I wanted but isn't that what parents are supposed to do? And more than once, Hoss told me I was Pa's favorite. I'd say it wasn't true but I knew it was; he always gave in to me all the time. Like letting me go on the cattle drive when I keep asking only I don't know if that was such a great thing.

But take my horse, Cochise. Once my pa, Hoss and me were in town and I saw this showy paint pony in the corral of the blacksmith's, just as flashy as she could be. Burnam, he sold horses on the side because sometimes people left a hurt horse there and picked up a new one. Burnam took a $50.00 deposit if you left a horse but if you didn't return within a month and switch horses back, he kept the deposit and the horse to sell.

Anyway, I wanted that paint. I was 13 and needed a new horse to ride to and from school. Well, actually, I was cutting school more than going but I was tired of riding the old plug Pa made me take—Freckles. It was embarrassing to ride up to the school house on that horse and I told Pa over and over that the reason I missed school so much was because Freckles was so slow that by the time I got there, school had already started and if I came in late, Miss Jones would take a ruler to my palms. So I'd just head on over to the fishing lake by Conover's farm and swim or such. He didn't know I had a fishing pole hid out there and would use bits of my lunch for bait—but it wasn't necessary he know about that.

Anyway, I started in on my pa, telling him what a beautiful pony the paint was and if I had a horse like that, why, I bet I'd never be late for school again and then my grades would be better. Hoss looked at me funny because I knew he didn't believe me. But one thing I have to say about Hoss, he usually stayed out of things and he stayed out of this. Well, that whole trip in town, I worked on Pa every chance I could. And then, just as we were about to leave, after the buckboard had been loaded, Pa turned to me and asked, "Joe, if I buy you that pony, there'll be no birthday present come October and Christmas will be lean too. And if you miss another day of school, I'll take the pony away. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," I answered trying to control myself. Hoss gave a snort but that was all he did. So we went over to the blacksmith while Hoss stayed with the buckboard and Pa bought me the paint that I named Cochise. But Pa was worried because Burnam said, "I gotta tell you, Ben, that paint's crazy—crazy as all hell. She's always nipping at other horses and I have to hobble her other three legs in order to shoe her. You sure you know what you're doing giving him to your boy?" Pa looked a little doubtful but I just looked at him, trying my best to look pathetic and I guess I succeeded because he paid $100.00 for Cochise which Pa said was too much and called Burnam a thief but I guess Burnam saw Pa coming because he just laughed and pocketed the money. Said he'd throw in a bridle and saddle as well and Pa said Burnam was too, too generous but that's not what he meant. And we headed back to the Ponderosa with Cochise tied to the back of the buckboard and me smiling the whole time.

Well, Pa rode up and dismounted and I wouldn't look at him.

"Joseph," Pa said. I still wouldn't look at him. "Joseph, let me explain. I know this is a lot for you to understand, but…"

I couldn't look at him, I was so mad—just stared out at the lake. My momma liked the lake and that's why Pa buried her there, so she could lie among beauty for eternity, he had said. My pa reached out for me, touched my shoulder but I jerked away. I hoped it would hurt him—I wanted him to know I was angry, I was mad, I was hurt. And I didn't know why I felt that way. I really didn't. I just wanted to hurt him and Hoss and most of all, that man back at the Ponderosa who Pa said was my oldest brother. It couldn't be true—it just couldn't!


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

My pa said that he understood I was upset but he'd thought that seeing as Hoss and me came home when we did, he thought he should just come right out and tell us—no use dancing around it. We would've asked why "Esau" was living in the house with us anyway.

Well, I spun around and turned on him. I asked him, "How could you be so gullible as to believe some saddle-tramp who just waltzes in and says he's your long-lost son? And what son? If you had another son, why didn't you ever tell me or Hoss? What else aren't you telling me, Pa? Huh? Is someone else going to come riding up tomorrow and call you daddy?"

"Joe!" My pa tried to sound harsh but he couldn't keep it up. "I'm sorry, Joe. Adam proved who he is but I always suspected; a man knows his own child. Hop Sing also knew. Years ago I'd told him about Adam, about his disappearing on the trail west and when he saw Adam, well, he said it was like seeing me as a young man again."

"You told Hoss too, about your firstborn son, didn't you?" My chest was heaving and the more he said to me, the madder I felt. My ears got all hot.

"Yes, but not until the night before you two left. I just showed him the family Bible—what I had written about... But he may have suspected something about Esau being Adam because he asked me if Esau's arrival had anything to do with my telling him about, but…" Pa knew then that he was wrong not to have told me at some time in my life.

"Who else knows?" The idea of having walked around all this time with people knowing stuff about my family that I didn't know was humiliating to me.

"Just Roy Coffee—and Hiram Wood."

"You sure that's all, Pa? How about the minister? How about Shaughnessy? You sure you didn't tell her some night when she came to help with a fever? How about Hop Sing's number one cousin or number two cousin or number 250?"

"Joseph, it doesn't matter because now everyone knows. Adam is my eldest son. I had to let people know because there were legal matters, inheritance and banking. I introduced him to the merchants and to the congregation and…"

"So we've been the source of gossip for months and I've never known." I considered how many people would now come up to me and ask how I felt having two older brothers ride roughshod over me—and they'd be laughing. "So everybody knew but me. Everybody was going around…" I couldn't bear it, being the only one left out of something like this. It was humiliating. "Just leave me alone, Pa." I turned my back on him again. I can't explain the fury that gripped me.

I had a heat inside me and I needed to cool off. When I get that way, I can't think. It's like I have a fire right behind my eyes and I just act. Pa once told me my temper is my "Achilles heel." He explained that it's a manner of speaking about a weakness that can bring a person down. Every person's got one, an Achilles heel, but as a man grows, he's got to learn to keep it under control or it'll be his downfall.

I knew I shouldn't behave this way at my momma's grave; it was a sanctified place. And she has a beautiful headstone and when I was a kid, it was taller than me. I had wanted to talk to her about Adam, about how I was the only one who didn't know what was going on and about how the hands, once they returned, would rag on me. But once I got to her grave, I couldn't say anything—I knew what my momma would tell me 'cause she'd know why I was really jealous—I was willing to share my pa's love with Hoss 'cause he'd been there my whole life but now this other brother shows up and my pa will probably love him best and I'll be left out. I knew that I was acting like a kid—like "Little Joe," the name I resented more and more as I grew older—not like someone who was almost a grown man. But no matter how hard I tried, I still felt like that kid who cried and blubbered when his momma died.

I had been sitting by the grave, my hat off in respect, gazing out over the lake, the moonlight reflected in some otherworldly fashion. I could hear the waters lapping at the shore and I'd calmed down somewhat. I hadn't turn around when I heard the horses stop and someone dismounted, like I said. I knew it was my pa. And I hadn't let him touch me and all he could do now was talk.

"Little Joe…" I heard that voice my pa has; it's like no matter's going on, no matter how awful things were, my pa would comfort me and his voice was like a warm blanket. But I wasn't going to be so easily placated, not like when I was a kid. This wasn't a thunderstorm or monsters in the dark.

"I'm not little anymore." I hadn't turned around but I did stand up and put my hat back on.

"I know you're not but, Joe, I wish you would give Adam a chance. I don't expect you to embrace him as part of the family immediately—a total stranger to you, but…"

"Pa, leave me alone." I turned to him then. "Please. Just leave me alone."

We stood there looking at each other over my mother's grave. Suddenly I remembered the day we buried her, how I had become hysterical when they starting shoveling the dirt on top of her casket. She was going to be hidden under a ton of earth and I knew she would suffocate. I kept saying she wouldn't be able to breathe. And my pa had picked me up, held me close, and told me my momma was breathing in God's arms. But that didn't help me and that night I was afraid I'd stop breathing in my sleep. My pa sat up with me that night and the next few nights, until I'd be so exhausted I'd drop off. And even now, when I'm upset, I get the same dream—that I'm lying in a hole and someone is piling dirt on top of me and I can't breathe as more and more dirt weighs me down in the darkness. I always wake up gasping for breath. I knew that dream was coming again.

My pa stood there for a few seconds more. I don't think he knew what to do but then he said, "All right, son."

I turned my back again. I could hear my pa's footsteps as he walked away. "I'll leave Cochise." I still wouldn't turn back around but I could hear him ride away, the sound of his horse's hooves fading out. And then I started to cry. I don't know why I cried but I couldn't stop. I dropped on the ground and sat there by my momma's grave and cried like I had when I was 5 years old and she died. And then I felt hot breath on my hands covering my face; it was Cochise snuffling at me, pushing her muzzle against my hands. And I reached out and held her bridle and told her about my broken heart and how my father and Hoss had betrayed me—both of them. They had turned against me and turned to "Adam" instead. And I hated him.

I guess I stayed out another hour or so but then I headed for home but I wasn't in any hurry. And I took my time putting Cochise away, slowly rubbing her down even though she hadn't broken a sweat.

A light was still on downstairs and I wanted to groan; I didn't want to face Pa again. He'd want to talk more and I didn't want to talk at all but when I walked in, it was Hoss sitting in the blue chair, his head thrown back and snoring. He was in his night shirt. I considered going on upstairs to bed but decided to wake him instead; I had things to say to him. So I roughly shook his shoulder and he sputtered awake.

"Dang you, Joe! Why you gotta wake me that way?" He rubbed his face.

"It was either that or whisper sweet things in your ear and you'd be so disappointed to find it was only me and not Lila Rose." Hoss snarled at me and I had to giggle; I knew he was sweet on her. "You waiting up for me?"

"Yeah," Hoss said rubbing the back of his neck. "Pa came home all upset—was worried 'bout you and what you might do since you was so upset 'bout Adam showin' up and all. Anyway, ol' Adam, he said he'd go pack and leave—go to town and stay there—that it was your home first and sayin' how you was young and needed Pa; he was a grown man and you was just a boy and all that, but Pa wouldn't let 'im. They had a big argument and you know what, Joe? Iffen I ever had my doubts 'bout Adam bein' Pa's son and our brother, that did it—took away any doubt I ever had."

"What do you mean?"

"You shoulda seen 'em, Joe, standin' toe to toe facin' each other and each one just as steamed as the other—it coulda been Pa lookin' in a mirror and seein' his younger self. I figger Adam's what Pa looked like 'bout 30 years ago."

"So you believe it too." My own brother betrayed me; how could Hoss believe such twaddle? But then what else could I expect of him; Hoss can be such a dupe. Pa says it's because Hoss is such a honest soul that he expects honesty from everybody else but he's a man now—you'd think he'd know better

When we were kids—I was about 6 so that made Hoss 11 or 12 at the time—I told him that there was pirate's treasure buried in the back yard of the house. I showed him a map I had drawn of the back yard with a big X on it; I told him I had found it hidden in a book. Well, I sat down on the back porch steps and watched while Hoss took a shovel, determined to find the treasure, and dug himself a hole almost to China. Hell, Hop Sing could've jumped in it and wound up back home! Well, Pa got mad and gave Hoss a waling for digging up the yard. Hoss never told on me—I've never known why not—but he wouldn't speak to me for a while and that did bother me. But he was so easy to fool that I just couldn't resist.

So I could understand why Hoss believed that Adam was our half-brother. But I wasn't ready to accept it. How could I know that the blood that ran through me was the same as Adam's? And what if it did? Hell, that means nothing. My father and his own brother John were estranged for a long time. Uncle John's even got a son—our cousin Will—who we've never met. So don't talk to me about blood meaning anything. The only blood that matters is what's spilt.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

I stayed out of Adam's way and he seemed to try his best to stay out of mine. Hoss was just plumb thrilled to have someone take over a lot of the things Hoss felt he was sorry at. Adam had a natural authority about him—as much as I hate to admit it. People just kinda seemed to accept his direction. Maybe it was the way he said things. Adam wasn't bossy and you had the feeling he'd been where you are before and knew what hard work was. And that was another thing; he worked just as hard as anyone else. He knew when to laugh and joke but he also knew when to tell a man to pack it in and haul his lazy ass off the Ponderosa. And they didn't argue after he took a man down with one punch right in front of everybody. I don't know how he knew where to hit the guy but with barely any drawback to give the man warning, Adam just punched out and the man was down. Then Adam told me to tell him—when he came to—that he'd better be off the Ponderosa before Adam checked back. And let me tell you, that man hopped on his horse and tore out of there. From then on, Adam was the undisputed boss, as much as I hated to admit it—and I wouldn't, at least not out loud.

But one thing, Adam had a natural feel for money, knew about numbers. Said that a pastor's wife had taught him higher mathematics and refreshed his reading skills. But whenever Pa or Hoss would ask him questions about his time before us, Adam just brushed it off. It was like he didn't want to talk about that time of his life and once I made some comment about his living with Indians and he just arched his brow at me and I swear I had cold chills from his expression. I could almost see him as an Indian sitting right there at our table and I never doubted he could cut my throat if pushed. That was one thing—you just didn't want to push him too far on anything because he was…what is that phrase Pa uses in business when you're not sure about something? Yeah. Adam was an unknown commodity.

And I swear, Adam read everything he could get his hands on. And he particularly liked poetry. Can you imagine that? A grown man liking poetry! I said something once about only fancy men liking poetry—or women. He just smiled at that and said that poetry spoke to the soul of man and that almost all poets were men. And not "fancy" men but men who wanted to share their sincere emotions with the rest of mankind. Such a load of crap! I don't know who Adam thought he was talking to, like I hadn't been educated. But the worst was one time when a bunch of us had stopped for lunch of cold chicken and bread and apricot jam. Adam sat alone under a tree and read from a small book of that poetry. I was so embarrassed. Here the other hands were eating together and swapping bullshit stories and my eldest brother—or so I was told he was—was sitting reading grand poetry. And not at all embarrassed.

"Hey, Joe," Hodge asked, "what's Shakespeare over there reading?"

"Hell if I know or even care," I said.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he's some fancy-pants easterner." The other hands chuckled and kept on eating.

"Kiss my ass, Hodge," I said and went off but he yelled after me to come back. I had made him an offer and he was ready to take me up on it. I kept on walking and they all just roared with laughter while my face burned with humiliation. I glanced over at Adam and he hadn't even looked up to see what the commotion was. I hated him and his icy indifference. I wished he'd never shown up.

So that evening when we were currying down our horses I asked him why he wastes his time reading poetry? Wouldn't he rather live than just look at pages of writing? I glanced over a him and he was smiling; he didn't react the way I hoped he would. I was trying to get under his skin.

"Poetry lets us know we aren't alone in what we feel. When you read poetry, even those poems that are a hundred or more years old, you realize that men have always felt and thought about the same things. We're just an extension of the thread of mankind and there have always been good men and evil men as well as love and hate and despair. Poetry speaks to the soul."

I made a sound of disgust. "You told me that once and I thought it was a pile of manure then and I still think so." But Adam just chuckled and went on brushing his horse. Pa had given him the big chestnut horse, the expensive one, and that also riled me. I had to beg and plead so long for Cochise and then Adam just shows up, says he's Pa's long-lost son, and Pa gives him an expensive horse.

One afternoon when everyone was out, I picked up the book Adam was reading; he had left it on the seat of the blue chair which somehow Pa and Hoss assumed was "Adam's chair." It was called _The Complete Works of Shakespeare._ I opened it and just chose a poem. I wrote it down so I could reread it later since I didn't understand all of it.

 _Love is too young to know what conscience is,_

 _Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?_

 _The, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,_

 _Lest guilty of my faults they sweet self prove._

 _For, thou betraying me, I do betray_

 _My nobler part to my gross body's treason;_

 _My soul doth tell my body that he may_

 _Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,_

 _But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee,_

 _As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,_

 _He is contented thy poor drudge to be,_

 _To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side._

 _No want of conscience hold it that I call_

 _Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall._

There were some words I didn't understand but I got the impression it was dirty, you know, the "rising and falling" and all when the girl's around, especially the line, about his rising in her name and pointing at her. I knew what that part meant too so if Adam was reading poetry because it was dirty, I could understand. But Pa had some other books that I had snuck into my room or into the barn to read parts of before that were better than that poetry stuff. I mean in the books they just out and out say most of it—you don't have to guess. But there was no understanding Adam only now I felt I had something on him; he liked dirty poetry. I planned on learning all I could about him and one day I figured I'd have something to hold over him and force him to leave. Bit by bit I'd learn all about him—all the parts he'd been trying to hide.

And one day I was in town with Pa. He had gone to the bank and I was just passing the time of day with Old Jack at the grain and feed store. He earned his 50 cents a day by lifting the grain sacks into the beds of customer's buckboards and spent that 50 cents a day lifting a whiskey bottle to his lips at night. Well, Old Jack's the one who told me about the scandal that went on while Hoss and I were gone on the cattle drive, about Adam and Poppy McClure and her being sent away to some prison for slitting her husband's throat. My own pa hadn't bothered to tell me and when I told Hoss, thinking I had something good he didn't know, well, he already knew it.

"And when were you going to tell me?" I asked as we unloaded the feed sacks. I felt as if there were secrets being kept from me right and left and I didn't like it.

"I don't know," he said shrugging his shoulders. "Stop talking so much and start heaving sacks." But I grabbed his arm and he dropped the sack on the ground. "Dang it, Joe. You purt near made me split that sack. Now leave me be and let me get this done if you ain't gonna help."

"But don't you see, Hoss! This… Adam's a sneaky sonovabitch…"

Hoss grabbed my jacket and pulled me to and his eyes were snapping. "Don't you go callin' Adam names nor his momma. He's your brother and if Pa married his momma than you need to be respectful. A man just don't go around insultin' another man's momma unless he wants bad trouble."

Hoss released me and in a way of apologizing, I guess, he smoothed out the front of my jacket. "Now let's get this finished. I can smell that fried chicken and biscuits from here." He lifted a sack and hefted it to his shoulder. "I hope Hop Sing done made chicken gravy to put over a split biscuit. Better'n butter."

Adam was causing problems between Hoss and me without even being around. But I learned to keep my mouth shut and my eyes open.

But what riled me the most was that the girls in town flocked around Adam. I put it down to his just being new and marriageable, well, there weren't a lot of us single, marriageable men—not that I think I'm of marrying age yet. And since everyone now accepted that Adam was the oldest of the Cartwright sons, well, he became a good catch. But the oddest part was that Adam wasn't particularly interested and that seemed to make the females even more eager. And it wasn't until Barbara Richards sat beside me once in church—she was my age and we, well, I'd stolen a few kisses from her before and once, she even let me touch her…I guess the nice word would be "bosom."

"Your brother, Adam, he sure is handsome."

I just looked at her and said nothing. Barbara always told me I was handsome and here she was talking-up Adam to me.

"Is he squiring about anyone special? I've been asking and if he is, whoever she is, she's keeping it secret. Do you know, Joe?"

"No. I don't know much about him—he keeps those things to himself."

"Oh, He's so romantic. I heard he likes poetry and all. I'd imagine that he kisses well too."

Who did she think she was talking to? One of her girlfriends? But I wasn't going to let Adam get one up on me.

"I read poetry too. I've found it speaks to a man's soul." And let me tell you, that line worked. Barbara smiled up at me and put her arm through mine and sidled closer on the pew; I was the center of her attention again. I guess I could learn a few things from Adam much as I hated to admit it.

We were eating dinner one night in September when Pa cleared his throat and put his elbows on the table, folding his hands together. That was his way of letting us know he was going to say something he thought was important. I didn't always agree that it was, but I stopped eating anyway because if I showed disrespect, I'd be sent from the table. Me, almost 16 being sent from the table! But it happened sometimes. And yet Adam looked up but continued eating although his chewing slowed up a bit and Pa did nothing, said nothing to him. It just wasn't right—it wasn't fair.

"Joseph, Adam, I'd like you two to go to Arizona and pick up a seed bull. Hazy Travers wrote me that he has some cross-bred Brahman stock and I asked to buy a bull. I think it would make for a better strain of beef."

Let me tell you, that sure as hell stopped Adam from eating. He swallowed like it had been a huge wad of tobacco he'd been chewin', glanced at me but I just shot him a dirty look.

"Well..." Adam said. Then he cleared his throat. "I've been reading the _Cattleman's Quarterly_ and it had some good things to say about the breed—originated in India, if I remember right. I hear they're good in hot climates, even in drought conditions. Good beef cattle as well and the cows are hefty breeders. When do you want us to leave?"

I would've suspected that Adam and Pa were in cahoots if it hadn't been that Adam had looked like someone had smacked him in the face with a shovel when Pa said he and I were to go, but he recovered quick enough. I tell you, that Adam—he's a cool one. Only Hoss was confused- I wasn't, but I also wasn't going to take this without protesting. I knew what was going on; this was Pa's way of throwing me and Adam together so I'd come around.

"Why do I have to go? Can't Hoss go instead?"

"Yeah, Pa. I'd like to go to Arizona again. Me and Adam'll fetch that bull back just fine. And, Adam," Hoss said confidentially, leaning toward Adam, "there's the Burnside family what lives on the way. Let me tell you, that Burnside, he's got two of the prettiest daughters you done ever seen."

"Hoss," Pa said. "I've decided Joe and Adam should go—and also to spare the Burnsides any trouble. I need you here to help with the mines seeing that you used to manage them."

"Yeah, but, Pa, Adam's taken over the mines now and you don't…" Hoss looked disappointed but he knew better than to argue. Hoss isn't dim or anything, he just doesn't know how to argue, how to twist what your opponent says to use it against them. And how not to give up, especially when it comes to Pa.

But I knew how to show I was upset more'n just looking like a kicked puppy. "You just want me and Adam to go together because you think that if we spend time alone, we'll get along better." I just call them as I see them; I can't see any reason not to.

Pa and Adam exchanged a look; I could tell by Adam's half-smile that he had probably predicted to himself my reaction to the news.

"Well, what if I do?" Pa said, looking at me. "It'll also be a good learning experience for you."

"I'm through with school. I don't need to learn anything else." I stood up, shoving back my chair. I wanted more'n anything to stalk away but wasn't quite that brave; there's that coward inside me raising his head again. "I'd like to be excused." I asked as I was taught to do, but I hadn't said it in that way, like I was asking for permission. I was daring my pa to tell me to sit back down and it looked like for a minute there that he was going to, but he sighed and said yes, I could go.

I took the stairs two at a time and made sure I slammed my bedroom door hard enough so it could be heard downstairs. I tried to think of a way out of going with oldest brother but all that came to mind was faking being sick. When I was a kid, I used to be able to get out of all sorts of things by laying on my bed and moaning and grabbing at my belly. I could even miss church by faking a belly ache. I considered shoving my finger down my throat to vomit on the floor to prove I was sick but that wouldn't hold off the trip but for a day or so at most. To get out of this, I'd have to catch typhoid—for real.

It was late when I heard a knock on my door and it was Pa. He asked if he could come in and I wanted to say no but he is my pa and he can still punish me so I said for him to come in but I still lay on my bed staring at the ceiling; it has swirls on it from when the worker evened-out the plaster and I guess applied a bit of artistry. There are small marks of people everywhere if you look close enough.

"Joseph, you need to pack. You and Adam are leaving after breakfast. He's to handle the deal and the money. I hope, like you said, that you and Adam will come to know each other better but you aren't making this easier. Won't you even try? Give him a chance, Joe. He doesn't talk about it but I think his life's been hard. And he hasn't said this either but I feel he truly wants to become a part of the family again. Don't make things difficult, all right?"

I said the right words but he knew by my tone of voice what I really meant—and I kept staring up. "Sure, Pa, sure. Oldest brother and I will become close as two peas in a pod, as close as two kernels on a cob, as close as the twin cojones on a stud bull." I knew I was being a smart ass and waited but Pa just stood for a few seconds more and then he left. And I gave a shaky sigh of relief. Once again I had gotten away with stepping one toe over the line.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

We didn't leave the Ponderosa as early as we were s'pposed to because Hop Sing's sour dough bread wasn't done baking and he wanted us to take a loaf. And let me tell you about that. For some reason that I can't figure, Hop Sing and Adam talked a lot. Sometimes Adam would go into the kitchen and just lean against the counter while sipping a cup of coffee and just shoot the breeze with Hop Sing. Adam'd ask him about China and as Hop Sing chopped vegetables or potatoes or hacked off a piece of fresh ham, he'd talk about living in China and about their idea of family and all and Adam would just listen. And he'd ask about that Confucius and household gods and such. Hop Sing seemed to really enjoy telling about his beliefs and all but I wondered at the time if Adam wasn't just trying to get in good with Hop Sing. But I couldn't think of any reason why he would unless it was to get more meat scraps for that orange barn cat.

I have to tell you about that cat; was kinda sad. In the evenings, after dinner, Adam would sit on the porch and feed that animal. That cat had the biggest head on any cat I'd ever seen. Adam said it was because he's a male but I don't know why that would give a cat a big head. Anyway, Adam'd feed that cat the leftovers from his plate or the kitchen—and he always made sure to have leftovers. And he just called it Cat, you know, like in "Here, Cat." Anyway, that cat would always come running, it's tail straight up when Adam came out after dinner and then it would purr and rub up against him with that big head and Adam would scratch it on its head. He would talk to it too. I suppose it's a silly thing but then I talk to Cochise so I can understand. But one night, Cat didn't come. And he never came again. I asked Adam about it, what he thought happened and he just shrugged and said maybe a snake or a coyote got it and he never spoke of the cat again. But I think it really made him sad but you'd never know. Pa keeps saying we need to get another mouser for the barn but we haven't yet.

We finally left the Ponderosa and the weather was good. The sun and all really put me in a good mood as there was a little nip in the air that made things crisp and sharp. Well, Adam and I rode at least two days before we were even off the Ponderosa. I knew it took about two weeks to ride the lines of the property and that some acres were more scrub than profitable but Pa had explained to me once that the whole purpose of buying those acres was to keep homesteaders from buying property too close to the Ponderosa and causing trouble. Pa had said something when the McClure property was put up for sale by McClure's son, that he hoped it wasn't going to be purchased by some speculator who'd subdivide it and sell individual tracts; you never knew who was going to come from the east and cause trouble.

Well, then Adam called Pa something that started with a Z—a zeno something or the other and Hoss asked what it was. Adam said it was a person who was afraid of strangers, people who distrust those not like them. Hoss laughed—more like brayed like a big old jackass-and Pa bristled a little but I swear, if I had said anything like that—well, I wouldn't've been able to get away with it. But Pa seemed to let Adam get away with a lot of stuff. And don't expect me to believe that someone who'd lived for years with Indians and was a saddle bum for so long knew words like that zeno word. I'd been all the way through the 8th grade and I'd never heard it.

It's true that every time Adam had any downtime, he was reading either a book or a newspaper or anything else he could get his hands on, but I don't know. He seemed too smart to me to be what he said he was. I never saw anything that would make me believe he hadn't lived his whole life with clean clothes and shiny boots and good food and fine manners. And he was persnickety about clean clothes. But then, I thought with the spirit of charity, maybe if Adam had lived as a saddle bum, riding all the time and such, that now that he could stay clean, he would. And one time I made some remark to Adam about his highfaluting manners and he said manners were just putting yourself in another's person's position. I don't think Adam's particularly religious although he would drop his head during grace and all, but he said that we should treat others as ourselves: _Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them._ I mean he quoted the Bible but it did make me think about things.

One thing funny about Adam though, about a minute after he shaved, he looked almost as if he never had. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration but you know what I mean. Now you might say I was just envious because I didn't have a whisker on my cheeks at all; Hoss, whenever he wanted to poke at me, would call me "baby cheeks," 'cause once he said my cheeks were as smooth as a baby's bottom. I said, yeah, and his face looked like a horse's ass. Hoss just laughed at me; the only way to get at him was to say something about his momma but I never, ever wanted to make him that mad—I wasn't stupid. Anyway, Adam could go for about two days without shaving but then it'd start to itch him and he'd shave again.

It was our 6th day out and Adam and I had barely exchanged more than ten words the whole time. I only spoke to him when I had to and when he commented on anything, I just ignored him. But he didn't seem to mind any—he'd just talk outloud. And that riled me even more. He should've been upset or mad or something but he wasn't, just acted as if nothing was wrong and so I had to make things worse—somehow, someway, I had to make life difficult for him. I know that's my biggest flaw—I sometimes act spiteful. Pa always said that a man has to be honest with himself even if he isn't honest with anyone else. He quoted Shakespeare like that would make it more important: "To thine own self be true." I'm always true to myself even though something that was said over two hundred years ago couldn't be very important today. I didn't need to hear what some English writer had to say to be honest with myself; I know my flaws but just knowing them doesn't always help.

We were low on food. A coyote or something stole most of our grub because I didn't put it away right. I admit it was my fault but you know what? Adam never blamed me but he knew it was my fault. The fact that he didn't say anything only made me angrier. I didn't need his "kindness." I would've been happier if he'd ranted and cussed me out, maybe even struck me, but his reserve made me feel guiltier. I would've been happier if I he'd behaved like a jackass, but he didn't. He really was making it hard to hate him.

All we had for breakfast was coffee—and not much of that. The coyote had torn open the bag before deciding it held nothing good, and most of the coffee spilled on the dirt but there was enough left in the sack to make a half pot. Because of that, we had to stop in a small town called Flashpoint. And if I had only put the food away, things would be so much different than they are now—whether that's good or not, I'm still not sure.

The main street was almost deserted and Adam seemed nervous, kept looking around. I would've asked him what was wrong but I didn't want to talk to him so we rode along in silence. Three men were standing outside a store, Hannigan's General Store. The sidewalk was missing boards and the store needed whitewashing and we needed supplies so we hitched our horses outside, my paint pony and Adam's long-legged chestnut. Adam glanced at the group of men who had stopped talking when we rode up. He nodded and they nodded back but watched us the whole time.

We stepped inside and Adam turned to me and in a low voice said, "Something's wrong."

"What do you mean?" I felt the place was strange as well but didn't want to agree with him. "Seems fine to me."

"Yeah? I've never entered a town and not seen and heard dogs or any children. There should be dogs barking and children playing—and respectable women. There should be town-folk moving about. And did you see any other horses outside, any hitched?"

"No, but what does that mean?" That was the longest conversation we'd had so far.

"I don't know. Might mean nothing but go watch the horses-take them to a trough. Here." Adam un-holstered his side arm and held it out to me. I swear my mouth watered just looking at it. Oh, I had a rifle in a scabbard on my saddle and knew how to shoot but Pa didn't want me to carry a sidearm yet. I was working on him but he was nervous about it; if a man carries a gun, he said, he's expected to use it and sometimes the only protection is not to have a weapon. And Adam's gun, it was a fine one.

"Why do I have to water them? You go water them and I'll buy supplies." I waited but Adam said nothing—just looked at me in that way he has and held out his pistol. I reached for the gun and it was heavier than I'd expected—not that I hadn't secretly handled my Pa's or Hoss' gun as the weapons sat waiting by the front door, but this was different. So with a sound of disgust at being told what to do and to pretend I wasn't also worried, I took the gun and tucked it in my waistband. I went out and did what I was told but I suspected the reason; Adam was worried those men might steal our horses but they hadn't. Actually, by the time I stepped back out into the street, the men were gone but two buildings down were two saloon maids standing outside the swinging doors of Back-Alley Dog saloon. At least according to the sign, that was its name but the paint was so faded that I only assumed there was a picture of some sort of dog on it; it could just as easily been a pig for all I could tell.

The horse trough was almost right outside the saloon so I led our horses down the street. It was empty and knowing the two saloon maids were watching me, I worked the pump handle—up and down, up and down, until water gushed out. It was hard work so I only half-filled it. So as the horses drank, I smiled at the women and tipped my hat. They both smiled back and one of them hiked up her skirt above one knee just so I could see the pale skin above the garter. Except for a set of French postcards Hoss had hidden in his room but which I found, I had never seen a woman that exposed before; it was…stirring. The other woman winked at me and then they both turned and went inside, glancing back once. But like Adam had said about the lack of horses and children and dogs, there was something odd about the two women and I couldn't quite figure what; it seemed as if the smile was just part of their paint.

I sat down on the edge of the raised sidewalk and waited for Adam but if I'd been older, I would've gone inside and had a beer and enjoyed myself. And that's what I was thinking and fuming about while hating being on the trip and having to wait for oldest brother, when I heard a "Pssst."

"Hey, pretty boy." I heard a woman's voice and I turned. It wasn't one of the women who I had already seen—it was a younger girl and despite the gaudy red of her dress and the plume stuck in her blond hair, she was pretty despite the garish paint on her face.

"You talking to me?"

"You see anyone else out here? Besides, no one could be as pretty as you are." I just smiled and she went on. "You are something else. My name's Gwen. Come on in and have a beer. It's on tap."

"Oh, I…." I looked at her smile and then at her cleavage and was tempted. And I was going to say no—honest-but then I thought of Adam and how annoyed he'd be to find me in there sucking down a beer. "So much for him being a good influence," I'd tell Pa. Yeah, Pa wouldn't think so much of his favorite son then. "Don't mind if I do," I said and stood up. Gwen held open one of the doors and once I was inside, she took my arm. I glanced around and saw the same three men who had been outside the general store and the other two saloon maids were leaning against a piano. There were two other men sitting at a table and it looked as if they had been playing cards but stopped when I came in.

"Buy me a drink," Gwen said and together we stood at the bar. "Two beers," Gwen said to one of the biggest men I'd ever seen—even bigger than Hoss. So we stood at the bar while the bartender drew two beers and placed them in front of us. He waited and then I realized I needed to pay; I was still surprised that I was even given a beer since I was still too young.

"How much?"

"Two bits." So I took out the coins and smiling nervously, I placed them on the counter. As the bartender swept them up, I noticed how scarred his hands were. He looked quickly beyond me, then turned away and put the money in a box but he kept glancing back at me and Gwen. The saloon was quiet—too quiet compared to the few I'd seen in Virginia City. And the one in Abilene at the end of the cattle drive, was a hullabaloo day and night. But this one made me nervous and I wished I had never come in. Then Adam walked in—well, he stood in the open doors and looked around, his hands on both the swinging doors holding them open. Seemed as if he didn't want to step inside. Suddenly I puffed up. Adam was afraid and I had gone and stepped inside and was having my first beer with a pretty woman.

"C'mon, Joe. Let's go. I got the supplies."

"I haven't finished my beer," I said. Gwen was hanging on my arm and I stood with one foot on the rail, feeling like a man. At least I thought that must be the way a man would feel but I was wrong. A man would've known better and left.

"Beer? You're not old enough for one. Now c'mon or I'm leaving your ass behind."

I knew Adam was bluffing; he wouldn't leave me. But I wanted to leave but I needed to save face. I should've been thinking about saving my ass. Gwen's hand tightened on my shoulder and my stomach knotted. But I held the mug's handle in my hand and took a swallow. I wasn't impressed with my first taste of beer; it was awful.

"Just let me finish this." But I didn't want anymore. If Adam asked me one more time, I told myself, I'll leave the beer and Gwen and go with Adam. I waited, hoping he'd say it again.

"Look, Joe, I don't know…" And he stopped. I looked at him and his face was slightly turned to his right but otherwise, he hadn't moved. And then I saw the man standing close behind him and my guess was that Adam had a six-shooter poking him in the back and here his gun was in my waistband-useless.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

Adam and I were shoved into a jail cell by two men-neither had a badge but they had guns and one had relieved me of Adam's, slipping his hand around from behind and gingerly lifting it while I stood at the bar with my hands up. The saloon maids had backed away by then and I knew I had been lured into entering the saloon. Everyone was in cahoots and I was the dupe. They used me to get Adam there as well. And now they had us both.

With weapons held on us, we'd walked toward the jail and Adam kept asking why we were being arrested and who they were to pull guns on us. What authority did they have to arrest two innocent men? What had we done? We were just passing through and hadn't broken any laws to his knowledge except maybe underage drinking. He'd pay a fine. But the men just chuckled and said we'd find out-eventually. Adam stopped suddenly and swung around outside the jail to face them. He said we had a right to know, but one of them men just pistol whipped him, just cracked him across the head and Adam went down on one knee right there outside the jail. He grabbed his head and tried to rise up again. I went to help him up but was shoved back against the wall—knocked my breath out, and a gun was stuck in my face. I don't think I've ever been so afraid. And up to that point, I hadn't.

"Leave 'im be," the man said to me. "We wanta see what kind of mettle he has. We need someone with a little spirit about 'im, some guts."

I know Adam heard them and although I didn't know what mettle meant, I could guess. Adam slowly rose, stumbled and went down on one knee again and then, using the wall to support himself, he stood up. The man shoved him and said, "Move!" Adam shot me a look and I relaxed a bit; he wasn't badly hurt but maybe he wanted them to think he was.

One cell over were two other men, one about Adam's age, one maybe a little older and paunchy. The heavier one had been pulled out of the cell we occupied and pushed into the cell with the other prisoner; I guess our jailers wanted to put as much distance between us and them as possible.

I was pushed into the cell first and told to back away so I moved to the back wall. Then while one of the men held a gun on Adam, the other felt in his pockets and removed his wallet and the money that was to pay for the bull and some extra. He tossed the wallet on the floor.

"Thanks," he said grinning and showing bad teeth, all brown from tobacco and some just missing leaving gaps. "Gonna make some good bets with this." They pushed Adam inside although he resisted being moved. Then they slammed the door and locked us in.

"Dinner's in a few hours—got to keep all of you nice and healthy. Meantime, enjoy yourselves, boys," one of the men said and both of our jailers chuckled and left dividing the money between them. They locked the outer door as well; I heard the tumblers.

I was ready to talk to Adam now. I couldn't afford to be distant anymore or pissed at him—I was scared and he was older and I hoped and prayed that all I had heard about his past, his living with the Indians, struggling and scrabbling to survive on his own after he left the pastor and his wife, well, I couldn't afford to doubt him anymore.

"You okay, Adam?"

"Yeah." He was rubbing the side of his head where he'd been hit. "It hurts but I'll be okay." He looked over at the other two men. "Why are you two here?"

They both moved close to the bars and held on to them. They looked scared enough to piss themselves. "To die, if what happened to Brady happens to us."

Adam stood with his hands on his hips now and I've got to admit that when he pulled himself up like that, he looked pretty fearsome.

"What happened to this Brady?"

"He was beat to death," one man said.

The other man spoke eagerly. "Look, we was just passing through—probably just like you. We're cow punchers and lookin' for work. Anyway, we stopped at the saloon and next we know all three of us are in here. They jumped us, those bastards, and now Brady's dead. These men took us to a place where there was a ring of sorts and sitting around were men in suits and some men who looked to be fighters as well. Seth and me, they had us sit and watch while they shoved Brady in the ring of spikes with another man—don't know where he came from. Anyway, Brady had to strip down 'cept for his dungarees, and then he was told that it was a fight to the death—imagine that in this day and age. Then they told 'im if he won, he could go free. I don't know that I believed them, seems like they wouldn't want no one to tell the law what was going on, but Brady, well, I guess when a man has a chance, he fights for his life. Anyway, Brady's no slouch and ended up killin' the other man, strangled 'im but he'd been beat up quite a bit too-barely standing on his feet. Then they sent in another fighter—bigger—and Brady didn't stand a chance. The man eventually snapped his neck—we heard the bones. That's why we're here—why you're here. They all bet on it, the men here and the others-men from other places. There was money flying everywhere—cheers and hoots and all. Then after Brady died, there were fights between men who hadn't been in jail—I think they were actual contenders—and the fights were the bloodiest things I'd ever seen. And after 'bout two hours, there were four dead men. Then they let in some dogs, big ones, that cleaned up the place, I swear they ate everything but the bones and licked up the blood. And they brought us back here."

"I guess cock fighting just doesn't seem exciting anymore," Adam said, but I didn't think he was funny and neither did the other men.

"You just joke all you want," Seth said. "It won't seem so funny once they put you in the ring or that kid. Hell, he's so little, they may just let the dogs rip out his guts just for fun."

"Adam…" I felt now that I was the one who was going to wet himself or throw up-something was on its way out of my body one end or the other if I wasn't careful.

He turned to me and if Adam was scared or worried, I couldn't see it. Suddenly I felt better, you know, like when you're a kid and have a bad dream and your momma comes to chase all the terrors away. That's how I felt; I knew Adam would take care of me 'cause we were brothers—blood brothers-and the spilling of my blood would be the spilling of his too. But I didn't want him to know how I felt. How would it look if I begged him to protect me? What would he think of me? You and I both know that I was nothing more than a puling little coward-so I wanted to sound brave and sure. I do have my pride—or did. But when it all comes down to it, pride's not worth a cow patty.

But Adam said what anyone would say whose pa had told them to take care of a younger charge and what he thought might ease my mind. "Nothing'll happen to you; we'll find a way out. I'll take care of things."

I dropped on one of the cots, my legs too weak to hold me up but that didn't stop my mouth from saying things I didn't mean. "I don't need to be taken care of. I can handle myself."

Adam ignored my comment and turned to the men. "Has anyone else been here since you have—anyone other than Brady? And I'm sorry about your friend."

"No, no one else, but I'm sure others have. I heard one man say that we walked right into town—they didn't have to go out and round up bait. That's what they called us—bait."

Adam paused a minute, then said. "So it's sorta like a gladiator battle. They find people for their own fighters to kill—for sport. You don't want to kill your best man. And my guess is that if you do well, that is if you stay alive, they keep you to fight again and the odds go up in your favor."

Seth and Earl just looked at one another. I don't think they knew what to make of Adam. Here we were in jail for no reason except to be beat to death and Adam was analyzing the situation and comparing our situation to Roman gladiators.

"Oh, I'm Adam and this is…a cowhand I'm training, Joe. We were on our way to Arizona to pick up a bull."

"I'm Earl," the man who had talked the most said, "and this here is Seth. We've been here a week now."

"And you haven't seen anyone other fights but that one?"

"No, and trust me, that was enough. I seen bar fights where people been cut by broken bottles, slashed even, but I ain't never seen anything like that fight and nothing with that much gore once them dogs started on them, rippin' them apart. Nothin' like it, and pray to God I never do again. But I know my time is comin' and I tell you, when that door opened and it wasn't dinner time, I thought this was my day."

Adam sighed and nodded and sat down on the other cot. The other two men sat down in their cell and I could hear their hushed voices as they talked. I moved over to Adam's cot and sat down beside him.

"What do you think they're saying, Adam?" I asked him.

He chuckled. That Adam, he's got this dark sense of humor but I guess if I'd been through what he has, I'd be the same way but probably worse.

"I think they're discussing how they can save their asses by sacrificing us. Or they're hoping that when they have to fight, it's with you."

I sat up straight. "Why? I can hold my own in any fight. Just put me in the ring and I can kick anyone's ass!"

"Really?" Adam asked. And I swear, I never even saw it coming but he just about cold-cocked me with one punch and I saw stars-literally-black and white flashes behind my eyes. Then I felt strong hands catch me as I keeled over. Adam laid me gently on the cot. "Now you were saying?"

My jaw hurt so much I didn't think I'd ever say anything again. I could hear one of the men in the other cot ask Adam what the hell he was doing and Adam said he was teaching an upstart a lesson in respect. And then everything quieted down. I kept my eyes closed while my whole head throbbed and spun and Adam put a blanket over me and I heard him move away, I guessed, to the other cot.

Finally, I was able to manage, "Why'd you do that?"

"To keep you humble, boy. To keep you humble."


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

Two more days went by and Adam and me, we didn't talk that much; he didn't seem to want to. And as much as I hadn't wanted to talk before, I sure did now, anything to keep my mind off of the picture in my head of me being torn apart by hungry dogs. Adam and I seemed to be opposites in that regard. When I'm anxious or upset, I can't seem to be quiet but Adam, he just seemed to close himself off. So while Adam lay on his cot, his boots lined up neatly at its end while his arms were either folded under his head or across his belly, I talked to Seth and Earl and even though there was a whole empty cell between us, I could smell them or maybe it was my own stench. When I commented to Adam about how bad we smelled, he said it was the smell of fear. And that was the only admission I had from him that he might be scared.

And then there were the tin pails that served as our chamber pots. They were only emptied once a day. In our cell, I was the one who, with a rifle held on me the whole time, had to carry out the pail to a ditch behind the buildings and dump it into a hole; I guess they were wary of Adam. Trust me, the damn pail didn't smell any better empty. And the first day we were there, the beans we had for dinner must've been bad because all of us had the cramps and then threw up, all except Adam who had tasted them and then put his plate aside only eating the cold biscuit. Fool that I am, I had asked for his share—I was hungry. Adam warned me off, said there was something bad with the beans—tasted like a fungus that gets on stored beans sometimes, but I just brushed him off. But I have to hand it to Adam, as I moaned and groaned along with Seth and Earl as we practically stuck our heads into the buckets, he never said a word, never threw in my face that he'd warned me. But then he didn't have to.

It was the morning of the 3rd day when Adam started becoming obviously anxious. You wouldn't know except that he'd stand up every so often and pace back and forth like a caged cougar. He wouldn't talk either. He had apparently said all he was going to say. He'd told me the night before that he figured Flashpoint had been abandoned long ago—no law, no population except for the people we had seen and maybe a few more. But the fights were a draw for gamblers and he figured there must be a town nearby with a telegraph office. Gamblers from all around probably came to enjoy the fights and win—or lose money. They more than likely even had their own fighters they brought along.

Anyway, Adam being nervous made me even more nervous. I wasn't sleeping as it was, although I hadn't had my dream of being buried alive, at least not yet. Also, Earl and Seth weren't quite so congenial anymore either. I don't know if Adam's state of mind was contagious or what, but they kept their voices low and talked between themselves and even paced on occasion. When I tried to start a conversation, they were brusque.

"What d'you think is wrong with them?" I asked Adam.

"Who?"

"Them," I said aiming my thumb in Earl and Seth's direction. "Who else would I be talking about? They've been whispering over there all morning."

"Plotting, would be my guess. They think their time is up, that they'll have to fight next, that is unless they push one of us ahead of them."

"They wouldn't do that? They're nice guys."

At that, Adam stopped pacing and faced me. "Are you really as dumb as a sack of cow chips or just green?" I must've then looked as dumb as two sacks of cow chips because I couldn't believe people would do such things and I'm sure my face showed it. "Look, Joe, if a man's life is on the line, he'll do just about anything to survive, sacrifice anyone else to save his own ass. Hell, most men'll even push their own mother in the line of fire to save themselves."

I studied on what he said for a minute and then I had to know one thing. "Would you push me in front of you?" I believed he would. After all, there was no love lost between us. Adam knew I hated him—well, at least disliked him-and wanted him gone; his life would be far easier without me around.

Adam stared at me for a few beats and then said, "Don't try me on it. Let's just hope it never comes to that." And a sense of doom filled me; I wasn't going to get out of there alive and my corpse 's back would have the imprint of Adam's boot heel as he walked over me to save his own sorry ass.

And it was that night I had my dream, the one that started when my Momma was buried. I was in the hole and dirt was raining down on me. I could feel the individual grains hit me, and I cried out that I was in there, that I was alive but they kept up tossing dirt in and it rose higher and higher around me. Soon it was up to my chest and I knew I was going to be buried alive and there was no hope; that's what gets me the most, what feels like a stab in my heart—the despair. But this dream was different—someone grabbed me and started pulling me out, or at least they tried and kept trying. I could feel the hand on my arm and heard my name. I woke up then, sweaty and afraid. It was Adam leaning over me, his hand still on my shoulder. And then he stood up, looking down at me.

"You all right? Seems you might've been having a bad dream—moaning a bit and tossing around. Woke me up."

"I'm fine and no, I wasn't having a bad dream—only little kids have nightmares. Guess I have an upset stomach from that bad food." I couldn't let Adam know I'd been scared by a dream.

"Okay. Sorry I woke you then."

Adam walked over to his cot and lay back down. He crossed his arms across his chest and rolled on his side, turning his back to me. "Pleasant dreams," he said without turning his head.

I was pissed—more at myself than him. He knew I'd had a terrifying dream like a little kid; I hadn't fooled him at all.

It was about a week later when one evening, two of the three men we saw loitering when we rode into town, came in, both carrying shotguns, the type that could blow a hole through a man so big you could ride your horse through it. They unlocked the cell door and stepped aside, telling us to come out and warning us that if we tried anything, they'd just as soon shoot us as smell us; we did reek and by then, Adam had the start of a full beard. I swear, he could grow a beard practically overnight but it did give him a certain air of toughness. Me? I know I looked like a little girl compared to him—baby face and all. Suddenly I missed Hoss. It was like a sharp pain in my heart and I wanted to cry. I sure wished he was there with us but then, in this situation, that wouldn't be good. These men would love to fight him, to see him take on man after man the way a bear was used to fight dog after dog released on him. And then I was reminded of what Earl had said, about the dogs being released to clean up the mess in the fighting ring. And I realized that I was terrified. For the first time in my life, I felt such a depth of fear, knowing I was probably going to die that I began to shiver. But Adam was calm, at least on the outside and I took courage from that. I was going to be a strong Cartwright just like him so I stood up tall and set my face.

But Adam had known what was coming and had told me. Earlier that day, he'd commented there was a lot of traffic in town; he heard voices, wagon wheels and horses on the street from our window which faced a side alley. Earl and Seth had stared at each other—they had heard the noises too and were scared. They knew what it meant to have all them people coming into town. Gamblers. Another fight. More blood. More death.

And that whole afternoon was like my nightmare all over again, that soul-killing feeling of despair. I swear I almost started crying like a little girl but looking at Adam, I couldn't. I wanted him to have some respect for me—I don't know why. I decided I'd pretend to be brave for the sake of the others but from how Adam kept glancing at me all day, I knew he was worried about me because he sat on his cot, leaning over with his elbows on his knees and one leg kept slightly bouncing up and down, his boot heel making a rhythm on the cement floor. I'd seen a tap dancer once at Piper's Opera House and the tattoo of his metal toes and heels was fascinating. Odd how something will remind you of something else. Maybe it was my life passing before my eyes like they say a dying man has.

"Adam?"

He stopped his leg and looked at me. "What?"

"You think they'll fight me tonight?"

"I wouldn't know. Seth and Earl have more or less shut-up about what happens at the fights. I don't want to guess but you wouldn't be much of an opponent—no offense."

My first reaction was to be angry, to tell oldest brother that I could kick his ass on my worst day, even if it wasn't true. But I didn't.

"You don't know. Maybe they got a girl fighter to pit against me." Adam looked at me oddly and then he laughed. And I joined him and we both laughed. And Earl and Seth looked at us as if we were crazy. But it was nice to laugh with my brother—the first time I'd really laughed in months-and I regretted that I had resisted liking Adam because I had come to appreciate him so close to us dying. I guess you never knew what life holds for you or you'd do lots of things different, and I remember Pa telling me once that a man has to do what gives him peace because he never knows when his time is up.

"Adam" I said looking down. I was unable at first to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry about losing the food and giving you such a hard time. I sometimes think I know better'n everyone else and I should've given you a chance." I looked at him then. "I've been acting like a kid—being jealous and all that and wanting to get at you. I just want you to know."

"Don't worry about it. I guess I should apologize for popping you one on the jaw." He grinned and so did I, even though my jaw was still bruised and sore when I chewed on that side.

"I think I had it coming," I said. And after that, a peace seemed to come between us. We both knew we were on the same side and not enemies. We were brothers. Brothers of the same blood. We were Cartwrights.

Anyway, the men came for us and took all four of us across the street and down a ways until we entered a hall—I guess at one time it was a music hall or something like that, but Adam was right; the town wasn't a legitimate town anymore—just a place taken over by a group of gamblers, thugs and whores. I tried to say something to Adam but I just opened my mouth and got out one sound, "Ad…" when I was shoved so hard I stumbled and almost fell on my face, going down on my hands and knees. Adam turned and moved toward the man who pushed me. The man stepped back and raised his shotgun. Adam stopped and by then, I had managed to scramble back up to my feet and we just walked deeper into the place. I looked at what was ahead of us and thought _, Adam and I are probably going to die here and Pa will never know and he'll be destroyed. He'll have lost his oldest boy twice._ I guess for once, I wasn't just thinking of myself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning: Descriptions of violence**

 **VII**

Down front was a ring of sorts—not a square one of four posts and rope like a professional ring, but round and the close-formed uprights that formed the circle were sharp-filed, pointed iron posts about a half-foot apart; a man couldn't squeeze through them-nor a big dog. Only at what might be the front was there an opening wide enough for a man to walk through. I could hear dogs barking in another area but couldn't see them, which was probably a good thing. My courage was failing me already but Adam, well, I had no idea how he was feeling—his face was like stone. I remember once that he mentioned that if a man showed no fear, even seemed to welcome his torment, the Indians let him go because he had "great magic" and they feared him. But these weren't Indians who had us and all in all, that ring looked more like a cage than anything else. One thing I did notice though was Adam paused for half a heartbeat and took a shallow breath when he saw it. I think I'd stopped breathing all together.

I glanced over at him when he stopped. "What is it?" But before he could answer me, we were shoved and one of the men told us to sit on some stools—you know, like the kind boxers sit on in their corners-in the front row, Adam first, then me and then Earl and Seth. I wondered if the order we sat in had anything to do with the fights. Would Seth go first? Would we have to watch him die? And if so, would we be taken back to the cells to fight another time or would Adam be the last one and have to watch all of us die?

Then a man we'd never seen before walked over to the four of us. He was a paunchy man with a gold tooth on the side of his mouth and a gold watch fob hanging from his vest pocket. He smiled at us in a friendly way and I have to admit, as dumb as I was, I thought maybe he was going to release us.

"Some of you sitting here, maybe all of you," and I noticed he looked straight at me, "will fight. In these fights, only one fighter gets out alive. I suggest you try to see that's it's you. If you survive, we'll let you go on your way. Good luck to all of you." He turned and walked away to join the men sitting near us.

Those men, about 20 maybe, some in suits, some in what might be called trail clothes, all had money- a lot of it from what they were waving around. They were obviously making bets, holding up bills, throwing the bills down on the betting table, shouting at each other or laughing. Across from us on the other side of the ring, were three other men, all shirtless. They had what were called corner-men, men rubbing their shoulders or talking them up. But I don't think they needed much encouragement; we didn't look any too fearsome. The only thing they might be afraid of is cutting their knuckles as the knocked out my teeth. One of the fighters was the barkeep from the Back-Alley Dog saloon; I remembered his scarred-up hands. I guess he injured them smashing-in men's faces but from the look of his nose, someone had landed a few damaging punches on him at one time. That was small comfort though.

I wanted to tell Adam about the barkeep, what I'd noticed, but Adam was listening carefully to the group of men, the group of gamblers who were placing bets not too far from him. I noticed the gamblers looking us over and then turning back to the table where they were placing bets, another man keeping track of it all on paper. From the looks of the men, they seemed to come from all sorts of backgrounds and their only trait in common was that they had money and liked to gamble. Then Adam relaxed his shoulders and he sighed and looked at the group of fighters, our adversaries. Like I said, there were three of them and four of us and as I scanned them, I tried to decide who they'd pick to pound me into a pile of broken bones and mangled, bloodied flesh. Probably that big barkeep.

"I guess they're betting on who'll win the fights," I said to Adam. He turned to me with the oddest look.

"Is that what you think?" He asked. "They already know who'll win—at least who's most likely to win. They're betting on how long each fight will last, how long it will take before each of us is killed. They haven't given any of us odds to survive which only makes sense, I mean that's why there are only three opponents to the four of us. But that's only if they plan on fighting all of us tonight. Seth and Earl are right; no one can get out of here alive and ruin their scheme. And as long as they can get travelers through here, it'll go on."

We waited and then Earl who sat on the end seat, with a shotgun pointed at his head, was told to take off his boots by one of the men who'd walked us over. Earl looked at all three of us—his eyes wide in fear but he did as he was told. He was then told to get up, but he didn't and I don't think it was out of contrariness. I think Earl was just too scared to move so the man jerked him up and ordered him to take off his shirt. Earl just stood frozen and so the man ripped open the front of the shirt and then, backhanding Earl, told him in no uncertain terms, to take off his shirt. Earl did. Then he was pushed down the slight decline into the ring.

One of the fighters was already in the ring by then, jumping up and down to warm up, grinning. And Earl just stood there, his belly hanging slightly over his pants.

"Adam, you think there's a way out? I mean alive?"

"There's always a way, Joe, always. It's just finding it." He wasn't looking at me though—he was fixed on the ring.

I'd tell you about Earl's fight but you probably don't want to hear all the details anyway. It wasn't too long but longer than I thought he'd last. Initially Earl managed to land a few blows but I think the other fighter was just toying with him, trying to make it look like a fight. Then their fighter began to slowly but surely kill Earl amid encouragement from some and boos and jeering from others. The men watching seemed like animals, wanting to see blood, wanting to see two men try to kill one another with their bare hands.

I once saw a boxing match in Virginia City. It was in a traveling fair and I rolled in under the heavy tent canvas and crouched to see what would happen. Hoss was supposed to be watching me while Pa went to the livestock show, but I snuck away, leaving older brother standing in line for a candied apple, and headed to the tent that had a huge picture outside the ten flap of a mean-looking, muscular man in boxing silks making bare-knuckled fists.

Someone from the audience had just volunteered to fight—a big, dumb, farm boy. Applause came from the crowd, a few of them being women and that surprised me. I always thought females wouldn't have the stomach for that kind of thing. Shows you never know about people. Anyway, the men in the stands behaved the same way as the men there in that makeshift ring in Flashpoint, cheering or hissing, encouraging the fighter of their choice with calls of "Hit 'im!" "Take "im down!" "Kill 'im." Some men just like to watch others take the violence I think they would like to commit. I had to admit, as I watched that fight, I made fists and found myself partly swinging them as if I was fighting an opponent. All men are the same, I guess and that's the scary part; on the whole, we like to fight.

It seemed this fighter knew just where to hit Earl, just where to do the least damage at first and then slowly doing more and more harm until Earl first dropped to his knees and landed face-first on the floor. Then he broke Earl's back by stepping on his spine with one foot and grabbing his hair and then his chin and pulling back until his spine couldn't bend anymore, Earl screaming the whole time. I swear I heard a crack—I couldn't look. But I glanced at Adam and he was intently watching everything. I don't know how he could—that could be one of us down there instead of Earl and probably would be. But what got me the most was that ten minutes ago, a man was alive and now he was dead. So quick.

There was another fight between two of the other men, the fighter who killed Earl and the barkeep. As they entered the ring, Seth said to no in particular, "They're just playing with us. One of us is gonna be fought. One of us and maybe another. But at least another one of us is gonna die and I'm beginning to hope it's me just to get it over with."

"Adam" I said and Adam turned to look at me. The men were about to fight and I could tell he wanted to watch. "You think he's right? You think one of us three is still gonna die tonight?"

"I don't know." And he turned back, watching as the barkeep landed the first blow.

"How can you watch that?" I asked. "How can you watch men be killed in such an awful way?"

Adam looked back at me again. "This?" He motioned to the ring. "This is almost merciful compared to the ways I've seen men die. And I suggest you watch as well. If you watch close enough, you can see the men's strengths and weaknesses. What punch they prefer, how they—see, see how he drops his shoulder before he punches?"

"Yeah. So?"

"That's leaves him vulnerable."

"You think that would help me if I were in there with him?"

"We can hope. Now let me watch."

I sat and looked down at my boots, at the toes and the stitching where the boot bent. They were a sandy color and shorter than most boots in the store where we bought them. Hoss had held them up and said, "Short-shanks, here's a pair short like you!" My pa had laughed along with the store-keep but I liked the boots and instead of blushing and feeling the butt of the joke, I'd walked over and taken them from Hoss.

"You know, Hoss, I think these are perfect." He didn't know what to say. "Now we just need to find a pair that're being enough for those things on the ends of your legs. I think we might send to Missouri for two jon boats that would fit." And everyone laughed again. Hoss just scowled.

I sat straight up then. I knew what Adam meant. Take a weakness, a vulnerability and turn it against the enemy and use it to your advantage. Hoss hadn't been my enemy but his size was his vulnerability; Pa even had to special order an overlong bed for him, he was so big and I had used his heft against him. When we were just kids, Hoss would be mad at me and say he was going to get me and pound me into the ground but I was smaller and faster and could run circles around him, giggling the whole time and he couldn't ever catch me-could only say what he'd do to me if he ever caught me. And whenever he made a remark about me, I just had to go back to his size to return fire.

So as awful as the whole bloody mess was, I watched. And soon the fight was over, the barkeep the winner, but he could barely stand up afterwards, his face a bloody, pulverized mess. He took a few steps and then crumpled and hit the floor, face first. He was dragged out by his ankles.

Adam was tense—I could tell from his jaw. There was one fresh fighter left and I was wondering along with him if one of us was going to have to fight or if they were just going to call it quits for the night. A man came over to our guards and said something to the one with bad teeth, the one who'd helped himself to our money, and pointed our way.

"Adam, they're pointing at us." I expected him to turn to look but he didn't.

"Don't wet yourself, Joe. They don't want you."

"How do you know?"

"It doesn't make sense."

"None of this makes sense to me."

Then he turned to look at me. "Everything makes sense. It may seem like it doesn't but trust me, Joe, there's order in everything. Look at the order of fights. They put their physically weakest fighter in first against Earl. I think the fight was rigged for his handlers to win money—seemed they were sending signals. Notice how some were yelling for him to hurry up and finish Earl?" I nodded. "But he dragged it out. Of course that makes for entertainment but if you bet on three minutes or five minutes, well, you lost money.

"Then he was pitted against the barkeep. This one was close and each tried to finish off the other. Whether the winner of that match is still alive or not, I can't tell since they dragged him out. If he dies, it may be a draw, maybe not Now they want a big match to finish off the day. Those who lost want to recoup their losses so they need to have someone who has no vested interest other than to stay alive. Now who do you think they're going to pick?"

Before I could answer, "bad teeth" stepped behind us and clapped a heavy hand on Adam's shoulder.

"You've been itchin' to hit someone, big man, now's your chance."

Adam stood up and faced him, then leaned slightly toward him. "I hope it's you I'm facing."

The man just snickered nervously and stepped back a bit; I thought he looked scared. "Take off your boots and shirt. Hurry up."

Adam did as told and handed me his shirt which he only partially unbuttoned before slipping it off over his head. Then he used the toe of each foot on the boot heels so he could pull them off. "Watch my things," Adam said to me while looking at the guard. "I'm gonna want them again after I'm through."

"Bad teeth" didn't touch Adam again, wouldn't even get close to him, just motioned with his shotgun for Adam to move and Seth looked over at me.

"I'm sorry about your friend there," Seth said to me. "And I hate to say it, but I'm glad it's not me."

I should have spat something nasty to him but I couldn't—I understood. In a way I was glad it was Adam they chose over me but then I wasn't. Part of that was selfish; I didn't know what I'd do without him. And then there was that Adam was my brother and I wanted to help him somehow. I even considered breaking out and joining him in the ring. Maybe together we could take the fighter. But I'd probably be more of a hindrance than a help and he'd have to watch out for me. So I sat and tried to swallow my fear and realized my hands were in fists.


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning: Violence**

 **VIII**

I could barely breathe as Adam entered the ring—had to suck in a deep breath. The other fighter, the last one standing, was already there, a big man who had maybe fifty pounds or so on Adam. He looked at Adam and smiled. I couldn't understand that but I guess it was supposed to seem as if he was happy to have someone to kill.

Adam sort of crouched low, his knees bent and I noticed that he moved almost like he was dancing on the balls of his feet—really lightly. Put me in mind of how Indians move so as not to make noise while scoping out prey-or sneaking up on a white man before he slits his throat. I put Adam at about 190 pounds, but the way he moved from side to side kept his opponent off-balance; the man's smile dropped away as he took a few swings and missed; Adam was in one spot-and then he wasn't. The fighter tried to land more blows, looking awkward and angry, but Adam managed to dodge the meaty fist. Boos and catcalls came from the audience and that seemed to upset the fighter. I could see the frustration build in his face so I decided to cheer Adam. I looked at Seth and he nodded and began to cheer as well. We stood up. At first our voices were weak, it was like we hadn't used them in years but eventually, we were in full force. I wondered if Adam heard us, not because we weren't loud enough, but because he was so focused. But I was more interested in annoying his opponent like when ants crawl up your pants leg when you're working. It's surprising how something that little can throw you off.

The fighter landed a few blows, busting the skin on Adam's cheekbone. I knew Adam couldn't avoid every blow and he hadn't yet made any contact except being on the receiving end of a fist. It seemed like the fighter's plan was to bloody Adam's face so he couldn't see or think clear—and then he'd start on the body blows. But Adam was too quick for him. Then Adam landed his first punch. He had dipped his head down low to avoid a blow and then that right of his came out like a snake and got the man hard in the left groin. The man dropped to one knee. Then Adam gave him a quick left to the jaw and the man's head jerked back from the impact, bloody saliva spraying from his mouth. But he didn't lay out, even managed to struggle to his feet again and crouched, moving about like some big bear, but he was off-balance. Boos rang out 'cause of Adam's punch below the belt, but there were no fair play rules here, no code of sportsmanship. This was a fight for survival.

They circled each other for a few moments and then Adam rushed his opponent which took him off balance, but the other fighter held onto him like they were hugging, and began punching Adam in the back as best he could, but he had little leverage with Adam wrapping his arms about the fighter's waist. Adam, bracing first one foot and then the other, was pushing the man back a step or so and then, Adam suddenly raised his head and smashed it into the man's chin. With that impact, the fighter let go of Adam and staggered another step backwards Then Adam swung out getting the man on the jaw. The man flailed wildly as he stumbled backwards again and then he fell onto one of the pointed uprights. He looked surprised at first, and then his own weight forced the pike up through his back where it came out above his collarbone.

No one made a noise—I think we were all astounded. Adam stepped away from the impaled body-and then he turned to look at me, his chest heaving. Suddenly cheers broke out from some of the gamblers and jeers from others but then all the attention turned onto collecting bets. And without anyone telling him, Adam made his way to leave the ring. Bad teeth went to the opening and stood with a rifle on Adam but older brother only paused for a few seconds before he pushed the rifle aside and walked back to me and Seth.

Seth's mouth was open in admiration. "Damn. How'd you learn to fight like that?"

Adam just glanced at him but said nothing. He motioned to me for his shirt and I handed it to him. He stood up and slid it on but didn't button it. He dropped back down into the stool and leaning over, rubbed his back where his kidneys were.

"I'll probably piss blood tonight," he muttered. His face was bloody from the cut on his cheekbone and his upper lip was split. He kept running his tongue over it. He grimaced with each deep breath he took.

"Do you want your boots?" I asked. It seemed such a stupid thing to ask with all the other more important things to say but I found I couldn't put voice to my thoughts. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for how I'd treated him, for what I had thought of him, and most of all, I wanted to let him know how proud I was he lived through that fight and that he was my brother—but couldn't. He nodded and I handed the boots to him but he didn't pull them on—just stared at them for a beat and then held them on his lap. We waited in silence; didn't think he'd take to questions anyway. There were no more fighters left except Seth and me and my first thought was if I could take Seth. He was bigger than me but I was faster and quicker. I could use the same strategy against him that Adam had used in his fight. But what if they put me against Adam? What would we do then? I didn't want to have to fight my own brother but I did wonder if Adam would fight me if he had to-and if he would kill me. I didn't know him at all and it was my fault—I hadn't wanted to.

After talking with the same man as before and looking back at us, bad teeth came over again with the other guard. "C'mon, we're taking you three back. Get up and get moving, Fast." He held that shotgun on us again and we slowly walked out, Adam still barefoot. We walked down the street and I could tell that Adam was in pain but he was alive. He stopped at a watering trough and stuck his head under the pump, working the handle until water flowed over his neck and hair. Surprisingly, the guards allowed it but after a short time, the other nudged Adam with his boot and said to get going. He rose, pushed his wet hair out of his face and glared at the guard who stepped back, but we continued, the water running off his beard and hair, soaking his shirt. The jail was quite a way down the street from the fighting hall and we were just about there. I was going to step up onto the sidewalk when I felt someone give me a shove—it was Adam. And I fell. I turned my head to one side just in time to see Adam swing his boots across one guard's face and then swing it back across bad teeth's face whose hand went to his mouth where a boot heel had caught him. Adam grabbed his shot gun and fired it at close range right into his chest—the blowback splattered all of us. Then Adam rapidly jacked the shotgun and turned it on the other guard.

"Now I can do the same thing to you or you can just hand your rifle to him." Adam motioned to Seth—I was still on the ground. The guard looked at Seth before holding out the shotgun. Seth took it and pointed it at the guard. I realized Adam had knocked me down to get me out of the range of fire but I was feeling slighted that I wasn't given the other shotgun. I guess I'm self-centered to the end.

"I'm only going to ask you once," Adam said to the remaining guard, "so listen close. Where are our horses?"

The guard swallowed hard. "Look, mister, I didn't have any money on the fights—I just work here, that's all. Honest!" Adam raised the shotgun to aim and the man began talking again. "There's an old livery stable just a short-ways down. Your horses are there. I'll show you, just don't shoot me, mister. I got nothing to do with them fights."

"Joe, get my boots." I picked them up and the four of us walked to the livery.

Once we got inside, Adam started giving orders again. "Joe, tie him up," indicating the guard." There're ropes on those pegs." He motioned with the barrel. "Seth, saddle the horses. Our's are the big chestnut and the paint."

"Mine's that white-faced roan," Seth said and then he quickly set about fetching saddles and bridles. I told him which saddles were ours and once I tied up the guard, I saddled Cochise myself who nickered and nuzzled me. I told her how much I missed her and she knew. And once Adam pulled on his boots, he finished saddling his, adjusting the girth.

Seth and me mounted up but Adam walked his horse to the stable door and looked out. A few men at the end of street were mounting up; they must have settled their bets and were leaving town. Adam mounted up, looked at me and we rode out, slowly at first so as not to attract attention I guess, and then once Adam kicked his horse, we lit it out of there and headed back toward Nevada Territory. I can't tell you the relief I felt until about twenty minutes later when Adam pulled up his horse. Well, Seth and me stopped too.

"What is it?" Seth asked.

"I have something to do. Now you two can wait here for me or go on. It's your choice."

Adam looked at both of us and then Seth said, "I consider myself lucky to get out of there alive and I owe my life to you," he told Adam. "But if it's all the same, I want to get as much distance between me and Flashpoint as I can, so I'm headin' out on my own. Besides, I figure they'll be looking for three men riding together. You two will be safer without me anyway."

So Adam and me said goodbye to Seth who once more thanked Adam and put out his hand. Adam shook it but grimaced slightly; two of his knuckles were split and for all I knew, his hand was broken but it hadn't affected his firing that shotgun. So Seth rode off into the night and Adam and I were left alone.

"Wait here for me," Adam said. "I'll be back within the hour."

"But, Adam, what if you're not?" I didn't want to be left alone in the darkness and I didn't want to be separated from Adam. I know I always wanted to grow up and all but right now, I wanted to stay just a whiny, snot-nosed kid.

"If I'm not back, then go on. I'd leave you this shotgun but I need it. And, Joe, I'll be back." And he turned his horse and took off back toward Flashpoint. Why he would, I couldn't even begin to figure.

I waited and it wasn't easy. Every sound scared me and Cochise seemed uneasy too. I had dismounted and squatted, waiting for the sound of approaching hooves. But then, when that sound would come, maybe it wouldn't even be Adam. That thought made me sick.

Time seemed to drag its feet and the moon rose higher and higher. I could hear some coyote howls in the vast emptiness of what was practically a desert, just a few scrub trees and bushes. I wondered if it had been an hour yet since Adam'd left and was thinking I should head out when Cochise called out and another horse nickered in response. That's the thing about horses—they speak to each other and how do you get a horse to shut up? But it was Adam; I didn't think I'd ever be so happy to see him.

Adam pulled his horse to a stop and I noticed he was wearing a hat—not his hat, but a hat nonetheless. There was another hat slung over his saddle horn and he tossed it to me. It spun through the air and I caught it. "Keep the sun off your face."

"Where'd you get these?" I placed it on my head. If I hadn't had so much hair, it wouldn't have fit.

"I came across two men and asked them to donate their hats. They were reluctant at first but eventually saw things my way; made things so much easier. And here." He held out a gun belt with a holster holding a six shooter. "They also gave up their gun belts and…" Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills. "We got enough money to pay for the bull and more."

"We're not going on to turn around and head to Arizona, are we?" I guess my face and voice gave away how scared I was at the thought of heading further away from the safety of the Ponderosa.

"No. We're heading home." He held up his right hand and flexed it. We both knew it was going to stiffen up soon and he wouldn't even be able to bend his fingers.

"I swear, Adam, I'm so happy to hear that. If you were down here beside me, I'd kiss you smack on the mouth for that." He chuckled but said nothing—just seemed weary. I buckled on the gun belt, adjusting it, tying the leather thong about my thigh.

"You ever worn one of those things before?"

"No. Well, I've tried on Pa's before but he won't let me wear one. Thinks that's asking for trouble." I looked up at Adam but he only sat his horse in the moonlight and looked down at me. The blood on his face had dried, his lip had swollen and bruises had been raised on his cheek and jaw. I was sure he was hurting from the body-blows he'd received in the fight but you'd never know it.

"Can you shoot and hit anything with one of those—anything you've aimed at, that is?"

"Well, I've never really had much practice…" Adam was watching me and I had no idea what he was thinking. "No. I can't really shoot one but…maybe when we get home to the Ponderosa, you'll show me how. You know, how to shoot."

I waited but he just sat a few heartbeats longer before he answered, "I guess I could give you a few lessons. I've think that's what older brothers are supposed to do."

"Yeah," I replied and grinned. And then I felt a little shy—I don't know why but in a way, I felt younger than usual. Like a little kid.

"Well, haul your ass up in that saddle and let's head out. C'mon."

"Sure, brother," I said and swung myself up onto Cochise's back. Adam rode out and with a sharp kick, Cochise took off after them. I figured I would never really understand oldest brother, wouldn't figure out the way he thought like I could Hoss and Pa, but I definitely understood more about myself and it wasn't all good.

We rode the rest of the night, pushing it hard. It seemed we were off direction in heading to the Ponderosa and I looked at Adam's face. He was sweating and held onto the reins with only his left; he'd tucked his right hand into his shirt front like a sling in a way. He was feverish so I thought he didn't know where the hell he was going. I didn't yet know how to get bearings using the sun and things like that but I knew enough to figure we were in trouble.

"Adam," I said as I pulled up beside him, "where're we heading? Shouldn't we be going more to the northwest?"

He looked at me and seemed he couldn't quite focus his eyes. "I need a doctor to look at my hand. I think...there's a town a bit further if my head's still working fine. It has a doctor and a sheriff. I need to stop there but if you want to go on…" He stopped his horse and seemed as if he was going to keel over and hit the dust. As long as we were moving, he seemed fine but now that we stopped, everything seemed to hit him at once. "Joe, if I can't make it, head on back to the Ponderosa. Here," He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me the money. "Buy what you need as you go. And tell…tell Pa what happened and that I'm sorry about the bull." He kinda wavered in the saddle and grabbed ahold of the saddle horn with his good hand to keep himself on. I knew he was worried and it was about both of us.

"The hell I will." I took the money and put it in my vest pocket. "Now you hold on, Adam. Like you said, you need a doctor. Let's go find one."

Adam smiled—it wasn't much of a smile, just a little movement at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were glassy; a lesser man would've had a mouthful of dust by then, having fallen off the horse and landed face-first. He had a helluva lot of pigheadedness but it was keeping him alive.

In a few more hours—during which I kept a close eye on Adam who was beginning to shiver instead of sweat—we made it to a little town by the name of Rimrock. I asked the first person I saw about a doctor and despite his practically never taking his eyes off Adam, the man gave me directions. Once I saw the doctor's shingle, I pulled us both up, Adam's horse following Cochise, and it was then that Adam just rolled off sideways. He lay there in the street, shivering like all get-out and talking about something I didn't understand; he seemed to be heart-broken over something or someone and it was kinda embarrassing as people came and helped me carry him into the doctor's surgery and he was rambling about somebody named Mosane..

Well, the doctor sewed up his lip but three of us had to hold him down and like I said, my brother's a big guy. He didn't seem to know where he was or what was going on and the biggest man had to hold his head still while the doc cleaned him up with alcohol and then stitched up his lip. But it was the hand that worried the doc most and me once I saw it. Adam's hand swelled up to twice its size and the split knuckles were oozing; his shirt where he had tucked his hand was wet with pus. Adam's whole lower arm was swollen as well and the doctor told me that Adam'd have to stay so he could keep an eye on it; if gangrene set in, Adam might even have to lose his arm. Hearing that was like being punched in the stomach.

Anyway, the doc managed to get some laudanum down Adam's throat and he finally slept—more like being knocked out. I wanted to pay the doc for what he'd done so far but he just put up his hand and told me I could pay later; looked like I needed to take a rest and said there was a little hotel of sorts down the street. And I was just about to go get a bath and a meal and a place to sleep when the sheriff came in; seems that the doc had sent one of the men who'd helped for him.

"Heard you ran into some trouble?' He asked after saying he was Sheriff Monroe. "Or did you cause the trouble?" I just sat down and I'm ashamed to admit it but I started crying. It was such a relief to finally be able to turn things over to the law, that I just broke down and sobbed. "It's all right, son. You look like you been through hell. C'mon over to my office."

"But my brother…" I said, wiping my nose. The snot had begun to run—I swear I felt about 5 years old again.

"Your brother's in good hands. We'll get some food in your belly and you can tell me what happened. Now what did you say your name was again?"

Well, to make this shorter, I'll just tell you that the sheriff and his deputy, a man named Flynn, listened to me carefully while I spilled everything that happened, about us being waylaid and taken to a jail, about Earl being killed, and men being forced to fight and how Adam got to be in such a bad way and once I started talking, I couldn't stop—it just came out—all of it in all its horror. Sheriff Monroe jotted down things on his pad while I talked.

Anyway, once I was through talking, I ate the food they gave me-venison stew and cornbread and a huge glass of buttermilk. The sheriff thanked me for giving him the information and told me to go to the hotel. I said I would but first, I wanted to send a telegram to my father.

"Tell your father hello for me, would you?"

"You know my father?" I don't know why I was surprised.

"If it's Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa, I do, A fine man."

I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my chest and I could finally breathe free again. So I smiled and headed to the telegraph office. The telegrapher wrinkled his nose and made an expression of distaste when I walked to the counter; I'd forgotten how bad I smelled. I guess I was like a dog who'd rolled in rotting flesh—a bit proud of my stench.

So I dictated the telegram: "In Rimrock STOP Adam hurt STOP I'm fine STOP Staying with brother STOP—and then sign it Joseph." I paid the quarter and headed over to the hotel but changed my mind. I needed to see my brother.

The doctor was understanding when I said that I wanted to sit with my brother for a while, if that was all right. He said it was but told me to wash my hands so he showed me to a basin and some soap and I washed up, rolling up my sleeves. Then I walked back to the surgery where Adam lay. The doc was bent over, checking Adam's heartbeat with a long, metal, horn-like thing. Doc Martin had one too.

Apparently satisfied, the doctor stood up and smiled at me. "Let me ask you, son, is he really your brother? I mean you two don't favor each other at all. Not that it matters if you're not, but…"

"Oh, we're brothers all right—he's the oldest of three. We may just be half-brothers, but we're brothers." I suddenly realized that the bond between Adam and me was stronger than even blood. After all, he had spilled his to save me from having to spill any of mine. "It's my turn though to take care of him for a while so I'm just going to stay here." And I settled down for a long night. But I didn't mind. After all, Adam was my brother.

~ Finis ~


End file.
